


Hidden

by n00blici0us



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-27
Updated: 2011-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n00blici0us/pseuds/n00blici0us
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal thinks about what might have happened in Point Blank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden

Neal is a chameleon. To be a con man, is, partly, to give yourself up in favor of being other people—to never truly be yourself again. Neal is a master at presenting different faces.

That is why, on the balcony, when Neal hefted the knife in his grasp, slicing cleanly through the ropes holding the banners in place, he knew that Diana was seeing a different side of him. He had tried to warn Peter during the boiler room scandal. Just because Neal didn’t like guns, didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to use them, effectively and skillfully, just like he did everything else. He is tougher than they might imagine. He doesn’t want to resort to violence, rarely ever does, but he will. He can. Then, on the balcony, Neal was letting Diana see the harder side of him, without regard for the consequences of doing so. He was so close to Fowler, so close to victory that he could almost feel the weight of the gun in his hands, the resistance of the trigger. He would point the gun at Fowler, make him beg for mercy and then whisper an empty “Bang,” to the room.  
Yes, Neal is not as soft as all of the agents who work with him would like to think. He didn’t commit any armed crimes, but if push comes to shove, if he has to protect his friends, his family, he will do so without any compunction. His life hasn’t been entirely easy. New York before graduating high school, alone before he met Mozzie, it wasn’t a picnic. And then on the run from Peter. But he had Kate then, Kate to keep him grounded and in reality. But prison was a shock for him, a place where he could barely sweet talk his way out of anything, some of the hardest cons he had to work. Never let them see you sweat—that’s how Neal survived prison. He played the game to win. Peter locked him up in supermax, trying to protect him from some of the harsh realities of prison but prison is prison and Neal—well Neal is a survivor.

When Peter said, “Neal, this is not who you are,” Neal thought, “Yes, maybe this is who I am. You just don’t know me well enough.” Maybe he really is a killer. His hand shook when he pointed the gun at Fowler. It wasn’t loaded. The first warning shot was the only bullet the gun has. He left the rest of the ammunition that he bought at June’s, a clue for Mozzie. And now, now he can’t remember why he left it. Did he want Peter to come? To save him? Or did he want something else? An end to what he felt? A slow sinking into oblivion?

Sitting alone in his apartment, Neal wonders about that option, if it had gone that way. Fowler, cowering before him, would give a confession, speaking the truth as a way to bargain for his life. “Bang,” Neal would whisper, finger pulling the trigger. Peter, the well-trained agent he is, adrenaline coursing through his veins, startled at the tightening of the finger and took down the threat as he had been trained to do. His own fingers would pull the trigger and then Neal would feel that punch, that kick from the gun. He would drop his hand, gun slipping out of his fingers. “Peter,” he would whisper. And he might have even smiled, glad to receive this reprieve from the life that lay ahead of him.

Neal can feel the tears gather in his eyes. What would Peter have done then? Would he pick up the gun and realize it was empty? Would he rush to Neal? Rush to hold him in the last few moments? Or—

Diana would pick up the gun as Peter rushed to Neal. “Neal, buddy, stay with me.” Peter would order, his normally strong voice shaking.

“Boss,” Diana would say quietly. “It’s empty. It’s not loaded.”

Peter would look up in surprise, his hands already soaked in blood. “Dammit Neal, what were you thinking?” He would clutch Neal closer to him, fingers scrabbling for his phone. “Call an ambulance!” he would shout sharply, his mouth shaping the uncharacteristic slur, “You son of a bitch, Neal, what the fuck were you thinking?”

And Neal, well he was hoping that he would feel nothing by then, that he could finally sink into his own mind and release himself from the rest of the world that held no joy for him.

But Peter would say, angrily, “Open your eyes Neal. You can’t leave Mozzie. Where will he stay? You know he won’t go back to Tuesday anymore.” What Peter might really mean is, “You can’t leave me. Why did you do this to me?”

Those are the questions that Neal doesn’t want Peter to have to ask. And that’s why he dropped his hand and let Peter take the gun, let Diana cuff him and escort him back June’s, where he sits, looking at the bullets he unloaded, pushing his notes off the table, smearing himself with charcoal.


End file.
